


A Wolf to Potters

by Lomonaaeren



Series: Wednesday One-Shots [15]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Gen, Shrieking Shack, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-07
Updated: 2016-01-20
Packaged: 2018-05-12 11:13:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5664079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lomonaaeren/pseuds/Lomonaaeren
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU. Harry doesn’t get to have the idealistic image of his father’s youth for long. In his first year, he learns that James was late at the Shrieking Shack, all those years ago.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is one of my Wednesday one-shots, written for the following anonymous prompt: _I'd like a Harry and Severus genfic where James arrived too late, Remus ended up mangling Severus's arm and Harry finds out, please! Both Harry connecting the dots and hearing the story from Severus himself are fine! I'd like the fic to be set while Harry's still in school, especially in years 1 and 2, and for Severus to be as distrusting and bitter towards Remus!_ It will have two parts.
> 
> The title comes from one translation of the Latin proverb _Homo homini lupus_ , “A man is a wolf to other men.”

“Professor Snape hates you so much, and it’s not fair,” Hermione said, sitting down in front of Harry at the library table. “I think you ought to go talk to Professor Dumbledore.”  
  
Harry looked at her and wondered what he could say. Then he saw the way she frowned at him, and knew she would probably stand up and go talk to Dumbledore right now if he _didn’t_ say something. This looked like it was bothering her more than the search for Nicholas Flamel. “But he’s just given me detentions. I can’t complain about that.”  
  
“ _And_ extra homework.”  
  
Harry looked down at the essay Snape had assigned him to write on the Draught of Living Death. “This is the kind of thing you do for fun, though.”  
  
“Just because I do it doesn’t mean it’s fair for him to assign it to you, out of the entire class!” Hermione leaned forwards and lowered her voice. “Malfoy was talking _while_ Professor Snape was talking, and Professor Snape still didn’t do anything to him!”  
  
Harry sighed tiredly and rubbed his scar. Sometimes it ached more lately, especially at night. “I know, but you know he’s not going to do anything to Slytherins.”  
  
“I don’t understand how you can sit there and act like you don’t mind.”  
  
“And I don’t understand why you act like you’re surprised.” Harry picked up his quill again. “Gryffindors and Slytherins hate each other, Hogwarts is a castle, Professor Snape hates me. It’s just one of those things that always happen.”  
  
Hermione opened her mouth again, still looking unsatisfied, but Ron cut in then, coming back to the table with another load of books that might or might not mention Nicholas Flamel. “Come along next time so you can help me carry these, right?”  
  
Harry had noticed Hermione and Ron would bicker on the slightest excuse, and she started right in. “I was having an important talk with Harry about Professor Snape! If you would…”  
  
Harry sighed and turned back to his essay as Ron and Hermione whispered at each other. They were probably only whispering because they were in the library, Harry knew. Otherwise, they would be yelling.  
  
It did seem strange that Snape should hate Harry so much when Harry hadn’t done anything to him before they met. It seemed even stranger that he should assign Harry essays on potions like the Draught of Living Death, which Harry knew they weren’t going to cover in this class.  
  
That didn’t mean Harry could understand what was going on. Professor Snape wouldn’t answer questions. Harry didn’t think Dumbledore would, either, no matter what Hermione had faith in him for.  
  
Harry _had_ tried asking Professor McGonagall. And she had sighed a little and told him that Professor Snape had his reasons, and Harry was to put up with it and only ask her if it was an emergency.  
  
Harry went back to looking up the ingredients list, and carefully copied down at least three of them before Ron and Hermione pulled him into their argument.  
  
*  
  
Harry moved carefully down the corridor. He knew that it was a little dangerous, but he hadn’t seen or heard Filch and his cat tonight. And he had the Invisibility Cloak, and he _really_ wanted to make one trip to the library and look in the Restricted Section. He didn’t think even Madam Pince would sit in there all night looking for students to kick out over the Christmas holidays.  
  
Maybe she would. The only way Harry would know for certain was to go and find out.  
  
He waited for a staircase to stop revolving, and stepped off the end of it. He was walking towards a corner with a bright torch when a loud sniff stopped him in his tracks. Harry turned around, wondering for a second if Fluffy had got loose.  
  
But Professor Snape was the only one standing there. He was staring straight at Harry even with the Invisibility Cloak on, and his eyes seemed to have a red glow, although maybe that was only the torch reflecting off his eyes like a Muggle camera would. He sniffed again.  
  
Harry stood still. _He can’t see me, he can’t see me, I don’t have anything to worry about—_  
  
“I can smell you, Potter,” Professor Snape said, and there was a low, rumbling sound to his voice that made Harry freeze, because it reminded him so much of Ripper. “Come out from under that silly Cloak _now_.”  
  
Harry stood and shivered. Professor Snape couldn’t be sure, he told himself. Or he would have just come over and pulled off the Cloak. That meant Harry could stand still and be quiet and Professor Snape would have to go away.  
  
That didn’t happen. Instead, Professor Snape strode forwards suddenly and yanked the Cloak off. Harry gasped and ducked his head as the neck stung his throat coming off. The next instant, Professor Snape grabbed his arm and turned him around.  
  
Harry shivered, staring at him. The red glow was still in Professor Snape’s eyes, and he sniffed as if he was smelling Harry up like a giant in one of those stories Aunt Petunia used to read to Dudley, the ones who wanted to eat little boys for dinner.  
  
“My office. Now.”  
  
Professor Snape tugged on Harry’s arm, and Harry had no choice but to go miserably along with him.  
  
*  
  
“You have… _remarkably_ little care, when you know that someone has already tried to hurt you at the Quidditch game.”  
  
Harry stared at the floor. He wanted to say that _Snape_ was the one who had tried to hurt him there, and Hermione had been the one to stop him, but he was afraid of getting Hermione in trouble.  
  
And he was afraid of the soft growl that Professor Snape had given when they’d come into the office and Harry had edged away from him. Something else was going on here, and Harry didn’t know what it was.  
  
“No answer? How unlike the famous son of a famous father.”  
  
That stung, though, and Harry finally looked up and snapped back. “I don’t know why you hate me! I’ve never known why you hated me. But you could at least leave my dad out of it. I can’t even _remember_ him.”  
  
Snape sat up behind his desk, and once again the rumbling sound came out of his chest. Harry knew he wasn’t imagining it, this time, or the red-amber glow to Snape’s eyes. Right now, there wasn’t even a torch around Harry could blame it on. But he stood there, because he had had to face Ripper and get bitten, and he might have to do the same thing with Snape.  
  
Abruptly, Snape seemed to calm down. He sat back behind the desk, and there was a strange smile on his face. Harry glanced warily at his teeth. They seemed sharper than normal, but he had to admit he’d paid more attention to Snape’s hair than his teeth.  
  
“Why not?” Snape murmured. “It’s simple enough to contain afterwards, and you’ve already seen part of what I was hiding. If I lied to you about it, you and those troublesome friends of yours would only manage to be _more_ troublesome.”  
  
Harry just waited. He had to. He had no idea what Snape was talking about. But he still shuddered when he heard Snape lock the door behind him.  
  
Snape settled deeper into his chair then, sniffed, and smiled. Then he said, “Has Professor Quirrell taught you anything about werewolves?”  
  
“No, sir,” said Harry, and then felt a sick jolt run through him. His mind jumped straight to a movie he’d glimpsed once on the telly, something about a werewolf eating people and jumping through their windows and biting them—  
  
“You don’t need to worry,” said Snape, in a sarcastic voice that seemed to suggest the opposite. He made a little passing motion with his hand, as if he was actually going to dismiss Harry. Harry doubted that. “It’s not near the full moon. I couldn’t transform even if I wanted to, and while my bite might have…some effects, it wouldn’t make you a werewolf.”  
  
_That means he is one! He is one!_ Harry stood still, hardly daring to breathe. He didn’t look away from Snape, and Snape only watched him with that strange smile still playing on his face.  
  
Harry was _sure_ his teeth were sharper now.  
  
“I’m sure you’d like to hear the story of how I became a werewolf,” Snape whispered.  
  
Harry stood there. In his experience, when adults said things like that, it meant they _weren’t_ going to tell you anything, because you’d like it if they did, and they didn’t want to do anything you might like.  
  
“It went like this,” said Snape, and he wrapped his fingers together and stared at Harry intently. “There was a group of students at the school when I was here, my age. In the same year as me, in fact, all four of them. The _Marauders_.”  
  
Harry stared blankly at him. Snape sounded upset, but then, he did most of the time. But he was also watching Harry as if he thought Harry should know the word. Harry didn’t. He barely knew what it meant.  
  
Snape looked away after a second, and a little tension leaked out of Harry’s spine. If Ripper was looking away from Harry, it usually meant he wasn’t going to attack him. “One of them was a werewolf. No one knew.” Snape was growling again, Harry thought for a second, but then he realized it was Snape grinding his teeth. “Well, except Headmaster Dumbledore. He built a small hut for this student that was supposed to contain his transformations on the full moon. The Shrieking Shack? I suppose you have seen it.”  
  
Harry had to shake his head, even though Snape looked even more upset when he did that. Well, Harry knew how _this_ went. Adults got upset with Harry for just existing, but they got still more upset if he lied.  
  
“You will, no doubt, on trips to Hogsmeade.” Snape extended his fingers, and for a second, Harry stared them, fascinated, expecting to see claws sprout out of them. “Well. This student was prone to getting out of the Shrieking Shack and running around the—Forbidden Forest. Although I didn’t know that until later.”  
  
Snape sounded horrible now. The growl was building up again, Harry thought. And he still didn’t see why Snape wanted to tell him this.  
  
“One of the group of _Marauders_ was my special enemy. He thought it would be funny to tell me where the entrance to the Shrieking Shack was, and send me there on the night of a full moon—without telling me what I would find there.” Snape shifted, and his eyes came up and pierced through Harry. “His name was Sirius Black.”  
  
Harry blinked. “Sir?” he added, when Snape paused. “I don’t know him.”  
  
Snape frankly stared at him. Then he shook his head a little and said, “It doesn’t matter.” But his voice was unsure.  
  
Harry stood still and waited. He didn’t think he’d get a chance to run, since the door was locked, but he would try if Snape was going to eat him.  
  
“I went down the tunnel to the Shrieking Shack,” said Snape, his voice a hiss. “I confronted the werewolf, without knowing what it was. It—he—bit me.” He turned to Harry. “That was the end of my life as I knew it, and the beginning of one where I must hide what I am, spend nights of the full moon in the Shrieking Shack, try dangerous and experimental potions that would let me control my transformation at the cost of great pain. And do you know the best part of it, Potter?”  
  
“What’s that, sir?” Harry tried to show he was paying attention without looking Snape in the eye.  
  
“There was a student, another Marauder, who heard what his friends were doing and came running to save me. But too late. Too late.” Snape sounded satisfied when he said that, which Harry didn’t understand. Then he looked straight at Harry and added, “That student was your father.”  
  
“What? _No_!”  
  
Harry shouted the words as he felt certain things fall apart around him. He had always heard that his father was a great Quidditch player and a brave man—well, at least since he’d been here. And it was a relief. He wasn’t the drunk the Dursleys were always saying he was. He wasn’t an evil man.  
  
But Snape’s eyes were glinting at him in the darkness, and he went on talking without even taking points from Gryffindor. “Yes. Yes, he was. He wasn’t the one who set up the prank in the first place, but he arrived too late. And he was the one who couldn’t look me in the eyes afterwards. One of his best friends was a werewolf, but I was too disgusting to look at.”  
  
“I—”  
  
Harry couldn’t do anything. Couldn’t say anything. His head was spinning. He was thinking, _My father was a bully._ He was thinking, _Was he more like Dudley or more like Malfoy?_  
  
He _couldn’t_ be like Malfoy. He knew his father didn’t believe some people were better than others. Or he never would have married Mum.  
  
But maybe he was like Dudley. Spoiled and mean.  
  
“Yes.” Snape leaned back behind his desk with a little sigh. “How satisfying to see the look on your face at last, as you realize your father was not perfect. More than worth the slight risk of telling you about it.”  
  
Harry just glared at him some more. He didn’t want to talk to Snape. He wanted to go away and think.  
  
Snape stood up, and Harry automatically turned so that Snape was in front of him. But Snape didn’t act like he was interested in hurting Harry. He went to a cabinet on the far wall, spent a moment searching in it, and then turned around with a potion in his hand.  
  
“This is the Secret-Binder,” Snape said, gesturing at the potion. “It will make sure that you can’t tell anyone else what I told you today.”  
  
“What?” Harry stared at the potion. It was thick and green enough that it would probably make excellent poison. “No! I don’t want to take that! Who knows what you put in it?”  
  
“I wouldn’t want to harm you, Potter,” Snape said. Harry would have described the words as a purr, except now he knew Snape wasn’t anything like a cat. “I want you to live and suffer in the knowledge that your fine father wasn’t so good a man after all.” He paused, and for an instant a shadow seemed to grow across his face. “And I want you to live because you’re the only means we have of getting rid of the Dark Lord once and for all.”  
  
Harry couldn’t even respond to that. His gaze was on the potion, and when Snape moved a step forwards, Harry blurted, “Does Dumbledore know that you’re a werewolf?”  
  
“Of course he does,” said Snape, and rolled his eyes a little. “Do you believe there is anything in this school that Dumbledore is not aware of?”  
  
“Then he should know about who’s trying to get past Fluffy!”  
  
Snape straightened, and his eyes got more intensely frightening, to the point that Harry had a difficult time lifting his feet.  
  
“You will leave that particular problem alone,” Snape commanded harshly. “You _will_ , or I will return the favor that your father gave me all those years ago. Do you understand me, Potter?”  
  
His voice sank, and all Harry could think of was one of those films he had caught a glimpse of on the telly. The werewolf had leaped straight through the main character’s window and attacked him in his bed. His skin crawled when he thought about Snape getting past the Fat Lady and attacking him in his bed.  
  
Or maybe it would be even worse, and he would attack Ron or Neville or something, because he didn’t know which bed Harry slept in. Harry glared back and said nothing. After a second, Snape roughly thrust out the potion again.  
  
Harry drank it reluctantly. It seared his throat and then settled coldly in his stomach, which didn’t seem fair. He handed the vial back to Snape and tried to open his mouth and say, “Professor Snape’s a werewolf.”  
  
There was a strange choking sensation in his mouth, like his tongue had turned backwards, and no sound emerged. Snape grunted and nodded, then pointed his wand to the door. Harry heard the click of unlocking spells and ran out of the office.  
  
He paused when he remembered something. Snape had been so eager to tell Harry he was a werewolf and all the rest of it, he hadn’t remembered to take Harry’s Invisibility Cloak or points from Gryffindor. So he hadn’t said anything about Harry having to return to Gryffindor Tower.  
  
Harry grinned and pulled his Cloak over his head. He probably couldn’t go to the Restricted Section tonight, because he didn’t know where Filch was, but he could do it later!  
  
*  
  
Later, when Harry had looked into the Mirror of Erised and seen his family waving back at him, he had to wonder whether his father had grown up. Did he really look like the man Harry had seen in the mirror, the hazel-eyed man who loved him? Or did he look like the bully Professor Snape had said he was, and he’d been happy or at least not all that upset when Snape got bitten by a werewolf?  
  
But Harry couldn’t answer the question, and other things washed it out of his mind.  
  
For example, he didn’t even realize, until the next year, that he had never asked Professor Snape what the name was of the werewolf who had bitten him.  
  



	2. Chapter 2

Harry sneaked carefully along the corridor. He knew Snape would probably think he shouldn’t be out at night, but what Snape didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him.  
  
He heard hissing, and for a second, he stood still, holding his breath. He didn’t want to hear that horrible voice that spoke through the walls, and at the same time he did, because he might be able to follow it and find out if it was really coming from the Chamber of Secrets.  
  
They were voices, though, and the words were normal, just angry. Not horrible ones about ripping and tearing. Harry relaxed and moved cautiously forwards. There was a door ahead that had light spilling from underneath it. That was strange. Harry knew this corridor was only used for storing a few things, and was otherwise disused classrooms.  
  
“—if you think for one second that I _ever_ want your pity—”  
  
“I’m not offering you pity, Severus. Just forbearance.” The other person gulped and continued on. Harry, listening in fascination, was pretty sure that he’d never heard this voice before. “And the company of someone like yourself. Not even all the time. Only when the full moon is in the sky.”  
  
Harry gasped behind his hand. How did this person _know_ about Snape being a werewolf? And why hadn’t Snape made him take a potion that would keep him from saying anything? Why had he given Harry the potion and not this person?  
  
 _Probably because he’s an adult._ That was the answer to most questions Harry had.  
  
Hoping he was secure under the Invisibility Cloak, even though it hadn’t kept Snape from sensing his scent before, Harry crept towards the open door. Before, Snape had been sniffing for students out in the school at night. This time, though, he might be involved in the conversation and not notice.  
  
Harry peeked in. For an instant, the light in the room made him blink. There was a lit fireplace in one wall, and lit torches all around, and even a fire burning in a brazier near Snape’s feet. He stood with his arms folded, snarling at the man who almost slumped over a desk in front of him.  
  
The man was one of the most weather-beaten Harry had ever seen. He had amber eyes and grey hair and clothes that looked as if they would fall off him any second. Harry ached with empathy. He felt like that with Dudley’s clothes all the time.  
  
At the moment, the man was staring at Snape, who avoided his gaze and stared into the fire instead.  
  
“Please, Severus,” the man whispered, holding out his hand and moving forwards. Snape turned away from him as if he didn’t see, and Harry froze, because now Snape was facing the door. But he still didn’t seem to sense Harry. Maybe the smell of the fire was covering up Harry’s scent. The man stopped. “I only want to make it better. I want to ease your life. Since I was the one responsible for cursing it in the first place—”  
  
Harry gasped, but he was sure, or almost sure, that the sound vanished into the croaking way Snape laughed then. “Since you’re the one responsible for cursing me in the first place,” he said, “you’ll never be allowed to do anything to ease it.”  
  
The man bowed his head. Harry stared at him. He supposed the amber eyes were sort of like Snape’s, and the grey hair could look like shaggy grey fur if you were squinting.  
  
But there was something even more important than that. This man was a werewolf, but he was also friends with Harry’s father and the mysterious Sirius Black. Harry had decided, just from listening to what Snape was saying about his dad, that there must have been something wrong with his father. If he was friends with a werewolf who attacked people and Sirius Black who tried to kill people, then how could he be a good person? Dudley had friends who didn’t even do things _that_ bad, and they were still horrible people, and so was Dudley.  
  
Harry hadn’t thought much about his dad in the last year. He wanted to wince whenever he did think about it.  
  
But now it seemed horrible that he hadn’t tried to be fairer to his dad. Here was someone who knew the truth. Here was someone who could tell him. And maybe it wasn’t so horrible after all, maybe his dad had just tried to do a good deed and Harry’s imagination had jumped to conclusions—  
  
Harry couldn’t let the other werewolf leave without asking him, even if Snape took a million points from Gryffindor. He walked into the room and took off the Invisibility Cloak.  
  
The instant he started pulling it off, the other werewolf stared at him. And then Snape saw Harry.  
  
He snarled, and Harry flinched before he thought about it. But he stood there, because this was more important than points or detentions, and he demanded of the other werewolf, “How could you attack Snape? And why didn’t my dad save him on time? And what was Sirius Black like? And who are you?”  
  
“Sirius Black is a _murderer_ ,” said Snape.  
  
The other werewolf didn’t move. He simply looked at Harry with his eyes wide, as if Harry was the magical creature, and then he whispered, “My name is Remus Lupin. I was the werewolf who attacked Severus, yes. Not on purpose.”  
  
“It doesn’t have to be _on purpose_ to ruin someone’s life, Lupin!” Snape roared the words.  
  
Still Lupin didn’t move, like he’d also decided to ignore Snape and forget about points and detentions. He hunkered down until he was almost the same height as Harry. “You look like your father—so much. But you have your mother’s eyes.”  
  
Harry had heard this to the point where he was sick of it. He wanted to hear something _new_. “But tell me what I asked you about,” he said, the words spilling out of his mouth. “I thought my father was a bully—I thought he was horrible—but he _wasn’t,_ was he? I just thought—I made a mistake, I assumed—tell me—”  
  
Lupin reached out and laid a gentle hand on his shoulder. Harry shut up and stared at him. He knew Lupin had probably _meant_ to make him shut up, but still. It was just so startling to be touched like that.  
  
“I’m sorry no one’s told you this before,” Lupin whispered. Harry thought he really wanted to look at Snape, but he didn’t. “I don’t know that this is the best time. Perhaps we can go somewhere else, and talk more comfortably there?”  
  
“Oh, _no_ , Lupin.”  
  
Harry jerked away and turned around in alarm. Snape had taken up his position in front of the door and stretched out his arms across it. His jaws were parted in a hungry grin, and Harry thought for a second he knew what Snape would look like when he’d transformed into a wolf and was lunging at someone.  
  
“I have no desire to see you go elsewhere with the little _brat_.” Snape had huge teeth, when he wanted to bare them. “I have a desire to see justice done _right now_.” He lowered his head and edged a little closer to Lupin, something like a whine bubbling in the back of his throat. “Tell him about Black, Lupin. About you, and Potter, and what you did to me.”  
  
Lupin seemed to have frozen. Harry looked back and forth between him and Snape, not knowing what he should do. He’d never thought he’d have to protect one adult from another adult.  
  
“Tell him,” Snape said, and his voice was almost hypnotic, the way Harry remembered hearing it on the first day of Potions class, before Snape had revealed how badly he hated Harry. “It’s his heritage. He never knew his parents. Shouldn’t he have the right to do that?”  
  
And he laughed, hard enough to make his chest shake and Harry to fold his arms and shiver.  
  
Lupin stood back up. His eyes had gone more yellow, but Harry didn’t know what that meant, if it was a good sign or not. After a second, he sighed and turned to Harry.  
  
“We can’t go somewhere else, then,” he said. “But we can at least make this room a little more comfortable. Do you know any Cushioning Charms?”  
  
Harry nodded and cast them on a broken, splintered chair and table. When they sat down, Harry in the chair and Lupin on the table, Harry gave Snape an instinctive glance. But he remained by the door and watched them with those mad amber eyes.  
  
Harry shuddered and faced Lupin. “What was my dad like?” he whispered. “Really?”  
  
Lupin gave him a gentle smile that made Harry think he wasn’t so bad, even if he _was_ the werewolf who had bitten Snape. “A brilliant Quidditch player. Brilliant at Transfiguration. A prankster and a jokester who was proud to be in Gryffindor—”  
  
Snape growled, a second that rose and fell like hills someone was trying to mash down with a spoon. Lupin stiffened in response, and then sighed and continued.  
  
“And that joking was what got us in trouble. We were enemies with Severus since our first year.” He kept his head turned away from Snape, although Harry didn’t know why. _He_ almost wanted to look at Snape just to see what effect the words were having on him. Lupin was the only reason he didn’t. “We played pranks on him, and we bullied him. He played pranks back, or tried to, but he was only one and we were four.”  
  
Harry was silent, thinking. That _did_ remind him of Dudley and his friends. There were always at least two or three of them with Dudley, and they would chase Harry, who was only one.  
  
“Don’t confuse him with the truth, Lupin. I suspect Saint Potter can’t even understand the concept of less than perfect sainthood for his father.”  
  
“I wouldn’t have asked if I couldn’t,” Harry snapped, and this time, he did turn around to look at Snape.  
  
Snape had moved a little away from the door, but Harry suspected he would dash back there in a second if Harry or Lupin tried to get out of the room. He wrinkled his lips back as Harry watched, and showed those dirty yellow teeth.  
  
“You don’t know what being bullied is,” Snape whispered, with the shadow of a growl to his words. “You don’t know the first thing about what I went through.”  
  
“Funny,” said Harry. “Because my cousin bullied me. And even though you’re probably about to say that you never knew my cousin and that doesn’t matter,” he added, as Snape’s mouth opened, “there’s someone named Draco Malfoy who does the same thing here. If you notice and smell things all the time with a werewolf’s nose, you _have_ to know he was the reason that some of my potions didn’t work.”  
  
Snape just stared at him with flat eyes. Harry turned back to Lupin. “What really happened that night that Snape got bitten?”  
  
Even though he was the one who had told Lupin to tell the story, Snape snarled again. Lupin lifted one side of his mouth, showing off the edge of a canine tooth, and didn’t glance at Snape again. “I had turned into a werewolf. Sirius, who was the worst of us when it came to Severus, thought it would be funny to tell Severus how to get into the Shrieking Shack where I stayed.”  
  
“Not all the time,” Snape said.  
  
Lupin ignored that, too. “Sirius was—he came from a family that had traditionally been Sorted into Slytherin and been Dark. He was the first Black ever Sorted into Gryffindor, as far as I know. He was fierce in protection of the rest of us, because we were his only friends, and he decided that if James hated Severus, he should, too.”  
  
“Why did my dad hate Snape?”  
  
“Because he was arrogant, and wanted what he should never have had,” Snape whispered.  
  
Lupin had tensed up, Harry saw, but he answered honestly as far as Harry could tell. “Severus and your mother were friends from a young age. James wanted to date Lily and was constantly competing for her attention. Plus, I believe there were a few incidents on the train when they were coming to Hogwarts that made them hate each other.”  
  
 _That’s stupid,_ was Harry’s first thought, but his second thought was, _Like me and Malfoy_. If his dad and Snape had fought about something like that, Harry supposed he couldn’t really blame either one of them.  
  
“He never should have been able to touch Lily,” Snape whispered. “He should have left her alone.”  
  
Harry glanced sideways at Snape, and away again when he saw the mad gleam in his eyes. Snape looked like he was longing for the full moon so he could bite somebody—but Harry didn’t know if that person was actually in the room or not. His skin tingled with nerves. Snape might just decide to bite Harry because his dad was dead.  
  
“I didn’t know that,” he told Lupin. “Hardly anyone talks about my parents. I didn’t even know Snape and my mum were friends.” _Or that Mum and Dad weren’t always friends._  
  
Lupin nodded, his eyes sad. “I wouldn’t be telling you this, Harry, except I think you deserve to know.” He paused. “I’m afraid that I also have to tell you Sirius was the one who betrayed your parents to You-Know-Who. He was the one who kept the secret of their whereabouts, and he turned out to be a Death Eater.”  
  
“Death Eater?” Harry didn’t think it was his imagination that he saw Snape twitch, although maybe that was only because he seemed to hate Black even more than Harry’s dad.  
  
“One of You-Know-Who’s special followers,” Lupin explained. “They were branded with a snake and skull on their arms, and they served him in killing Muggles, torturing people, leading battles—whatever he desired.” Lupin took a deep breath. “Sirius betrayed your parents and killed another friend of ours, Peter Pettigrew, who tried to stop him. He’s in the wizarding prison, Azkaban, now.”  
  
“The perfect place for him,” Snape whispered.  
  
Harry closed his eyes. It was no wonder Snape had thought it was strange, last year, that Harry didn’t know who Sirius Black was. Even if he had never heard of him being one of Dad and Mum’s friends, he still should have heard of him as the man who had _betrayed_ Mum and Dad.  
  
Harry’s throat and eyes felt sticky. What else was he ignorant of? What else was out there that people just refused to talk about?  
  
He understood why Snape hadn’t said anything about being friends with Harry’s mum. Snape hated Harry and didn’t want to tell him anything that might make him happy, only things that might make him angry. But Harry didn’t understand why Headmaster Dumbledore or Professor McGonagall or somebody hadn’t _told_ him. They must know about Sirius Black’s trial, at least, if nothing else. Did they think that Harry wouldn’t want to know?  
  
“Why did you wait so long to come here?” Harry asked Lupin, looking up at him. “Why didn’t you—why weren’t you there when I was a kid, or before now?”  
  
“What an excellent question, Lupin.” Snape was leaning against the door with his arms folded. “Why don’t you tell the child the truth?”  
  
Lupin shut his eyes. His face had tight lines of pain on it, but that didn’t impress Harry. He’d seen other people look that way, and he’d looked that way himself. That didn’t mean Lupin could get away with just brushing off Harry’s question. Harry wanted to _know_.  
  
Lupin finally said, in a soft voice, “They wouldn’t have let me adopt you, because I’m a werewolf and they think werewolves are a danger to all children. I was told that you were happy in your new home, and that your Muggle relatives would protect you with their love and care.”  
  
Harry laughed. Then he laughed some more. Then he leaned against the wall and wheezed, while the Invisibility Cloak slipped down his shoulders and Lupin stared at him with pained eyes. Snape was watching him too, but Harry almost didn’t care. He knew one secret about Snape. He didn’t care if Snape knew this about him.  
  
“They _don’t_ love me,” he told Lupin bluntly. “They never told me about magic, they told me I was a freak, they made me sleep in a cupboard, they _hate_ me.” He shook his head. “And it has to be a lie, what you’re saying about werewolves,” he added. “Because Professor Snape is teaching here—”  
  
Suddenly Harry’s voice was gone, probably because he’d come too close to saying the truths that the potion Snape had fed him made him keep quiet. But he didn’t care. Lupin knew what he meant.   
  
Harry stared at Lupin, and waited for some sort of answer.  
  
Lupin finally spoke, and it sounded as though his tongue was about three sizes too large. “That—was a special arrangement that Headmaster Dumbledore made when he accepted Severus as Potions master. It would take someone with his power and influence to make it possible for me to adopt you.”  
  
“And you don’t think Albus would do such a thing for the last of the _Marauders_?” Snape sneered at once. “The four students he favored more than anyone before or since? The students he let go with barely a slap on the wrist for turning me into a beast, because they were his favorites?”  
  
Lupin sighed. “Headmaster Dumbledore only reigns supreme in the school. He would have had a much harder push to make it possible for a werewolf to take in the Boy-Who-Lived.”  
  
“But you never asked,” said Snape. He sounded satisfied.  
  
Silence, and then Lupin said, “No. I never did.”  
  
Harry just looked at Lupin and said nothing. He believed the man, everything he was saying. He believed that his dad hadn’t been as bad a person as Harry, with so little knowledge to go on, had been picturing. He believed Sirius Black had been worse.  
  
But he didn’t have to like it.  
  
He said, “I hope you’ll understand when I say that I don’t like you much. Maybe I would have liked you more if you’d come to me before this and told me everything. But as it is, I don’t like you much.”  
  
“Harry…”  
  
Lupin only stood there, though, and Harry turned away. “I don’t know whether you thought you would bite me or you didn’t have anyone who could baby-sit me during the full moon,” he said over his shoulder. “But even if you bit me, being a werewolf would be better than the way my relatives treated me.”  
  
Snape loomed over him for a second. “Do not speak of what you do not understand.”  
  
Harry just stared at him with dead eyes. Snape waited for a second, looked Harry over, nodded to himself, and opened the door to let him by.  
  
Harry heard him say to Lupin, “Well, that was certainly a more complete vengeance than anything _I_ could have designed.”  
  
Harry shut his eyes. One of his father’s friends was in prison, and one was dead, and one of them didn’t want him.  
  
He went back to bed and curled up and went to sleep. The voice in the walls wasn’t important right now.  
  



	3. Chapter 3

“Are you quite all right, Harry?”  
  
Harry started and opened his eyes. His back was cold and stiff, and after a second, he realized what it was. He’d been leaning against the wall outside Dumbledore’s gargoyle for so long that he ached. And he’d fallen asleep there!  
  
Harry felt his face burn as he stood up. He didn’t want to look like a little kid.  
  
Dumbledore stood in front of him, peering down with gently twinkling eyes. Harry nodded to him and said, “I need to ask you something, Headmaster. Please. It’s very important. I wanted to see you, but I didn’t know the password…” He glared at the gargoyle from the corner of his eye. The gargoyle didn’t move, but Harry thought it sneered like Malfoy anyway.  
  
“It must be urgent,” said Dumbledore, and spoke to the gargoyle. It was out of the way in a second, and Harry stared at the moving steps leading upwards. “Come along, then.”  
  
Dumbledore seemed to gesture Harry ahead rather than push him, but Harry _knew_ Dumbledore must have used his hand, because he didn’t think he could walk on his own right now. He bit his lip and stumbled on up.  
  
When they reached Dumbledore’s office, Dumbledore put his cloak over the back of Harry’s chair and insisted he sit down in it. Harry blinked a little and stared around at all the strange silver instruments and the golden-red bird on his perch. He chirped at Harry and then at Dumbledore, who smiled at him as he walked behind his desk.  
  
“This is Fawkes, Harry. My phoenix. He’s always happy to have company.”  
  
Harry nodded awkwardly to Fawkes and then faced Dumbledore. He opened his mouth, but Dumbledore held up his hand for a second, and Harry had to close his mouth even though he _really_ didn’t want to.  
  
“I think you should have some hot chocolate to warm you, my boy. Allow me to order some from the kitchens.”  
  
Harry sighed and nodded. He had to admit he _was_ very cold and stiff, and the Invisibility Cloak, which he’d taken along with him so no one would spot him in the corridors and send him back to Gryffindor Tower, hadn’t kept him comfortable.   
  
The hot chocolate was there a few minutes later, and Dumbledore gave it to him with some cream on top. Harry sipped it and felt better. Then he remembered what he wanted to ask.  
  
His stomach went sour. He put the mug down on the arm of his chair.  
  
“It must be a large problem if chocolate can’t make it taste better.”  
  
“It is, sir.” Harry looked up. “I—I met Mr. Lupin a few days ago. And he told me all sorts of things about my father and Sirius Black and—and Professor Snape.” Harry thought he might as well use Snape’s title so Dumbledore wouldn’t waste time by telling him to use it. “I need to know what you think of it.”  
  
Dumbledore clasped his hands together and spent a moment surveying him. Then he nodded. “Yes, Professor Snape did mention that to me. I don’t know how many questions I can answer, Harry. There are some secrets I keep which aren’t my own.”  
  
Harry shivered and said, “But I just want to know what _you_ think. I mean—I mean, Sirius Black was a murderer, and he even tried to murder _Snape_ when he was in school. Why did you let him _stay_?”  
  
At least Dudley had never seriously tried to kill Harry. Maybe it was just because he didn’t want to do any chores himself or lose his favorite toy to beat up on, but Harry had never faced what Snape had.  
  
Dumbledore sighed, a sigh that seemed to come from the heart. “Alas, my boy, that is down to the power of one old man to forgive too much. When Sirius played that prank on Professor Snape--”  
  
“It wasn’t a _prank_. Not if it could get him killed.”  
  
Dumbledore slowly nodded. “You’re right. And more sympathetic to Professor Snape than I would have thought you could be.” He smiled at Harry.   
  
Harry only shrugged. He didn’t know what was properly sympathetic and what wasn’t. He knew what he wanted to say and what was right. “So you forgave Black because he was sorry for it?”  
  
“I wonder about even that, given what came later,” Dumbledore mused. “But he seemed to be sorry at the time, and I couldn’t explain what had happened fully and expel Sirius without betraying both Remus’s and Professor Snape’s privacy.” He looked gently at Harry. “Professor Snape told me that you found out about him last year.”  
  
Harry nodded. He had another question to ask. “You couldn’t figure out some way to punish Sirius Black otherwise?”  
  
“The one bad thing about a school like Hogwarts is the speed with which gossip spreads. An expulsion needs to be revised and signed by the Board of Governors, and I had already gone against their wishes by allowing a werewolf student into the school in the first place. They would more than likely have insisted on expelling not only Black, but Remus and our newest student werewolf.”  
  
Harry nodded again. He could see the sense of it when it was explained like that, but he still thought there was something else Dumbledore could have done.  
  
He had to admit that he didn’t know what it was, though.  
  
“Understand, Harry,” Dumbledore added then in a solemn voice, “I am only telling you this because, by a series of rather extraordinary coincidences, you have become involved in two adults’ private lives. I would not have answered your questions if you had not already met Remus and heard the story from Professor Snape himself.”  
  
Harry said, “I know.” He hesitated, and then he blurted out, “But, sir, no one _ever_ told me that about my father. I might not have ever known. Why do people keep hiding bad things about my parents from me?”  
  
“Because they died young.” Dumbledore stood up and came around his desk to put a hand on Harry’s shoulder. Then he gently picked up the mug of hot chocolate and held it out to Harry again. “I don’t think anyone wants to speak badly of them. Even Professor Snape keeps his silence most of the time, you’ll notice.”  
  
“He just treats _me_ badly,” Harry said into the cup as he drank.  
  
“Have you had him in class since your conversation with Remus, Harry?”  
  
Harry looked up and shook his head.   
  
“Then I think you might find some things have changed.” Dumbledore lifted a hand when Harry started to speak again. “I’ll leave it up to Professor Snape to explain that or not, as he wishes. He is an intensely private man, and wouldn’t thank me for anticipating him.” Dumbledore smiled. “Now, tell me about that interesting prank the Weasley twins pulled yesterday.”  
  
*  
  
“Brooding, Potter?”  
  
Harry blinked. He’d been sitting by the lake, because at least out here there were fewer people trying to call him the Heir of Slytherin and no voices muttering in the walls. He turned and looked in silence up at Snape.  
  
“You are.” But Snape didn’t move away or take points or do some other sneery thing. He stood there and stared.  
  
Harry finally decided that if he was going to get in trouble, it already would have happened, and he turned back to the lake. When he threw a stone in, little ripples started up. Harry watched them and wondered for a second if ripples ever had problems like this, secrets they couldn’t talk about. He doubted it. Maybe he should have been born a ripple. They probably didn’t have parents, either. Or at least they knew all about their parents, who were probably other ripples.  
  
“Look at me, Potter.”  
  
Harry was at the point where he just didn’t care much one way or another. So he turned and looked up at Snape from inside the confines of his cloak.  
  
For an instant, Snape showed his teeth and amber eyes in the flashes that had told Harry he was a werewolf in the first place. Then he sighed and sat down next to Harry. Harry controlled the urge to edge away.  
  
“I hated your father,” Snape told the water. “I still do. And I hate Black and Lupin.”  
  
“I know,” said Harry. “And you hate me.”  
  
“That has begun to change.” Snape looked at him, then away. His voice was so tense that Harry said nothing, where a few minutes ago hearing something like that would have made him yell in surprise. “You are not—you did not try to tell your friends that I was a werewolf.”  
  
“Yeah, but I couldn’t,” said Harry. “That’s not because I was noble and liked you. I don’t like you.”  
  
Snape turned back to him. He seemed to have relaxed for some reason. “And I don’t like you,” he said. “But I think you must have been speaking the truth when you told Lupin that you were bullied and knew what it was like.”  
  
“Yes. My cousin.” Harry thought this was the strangest conversation he’d ever had with anyone. But he might as well go on having it until Snape woke up and started assigning him detentions again.  
  
Snape stared at him and sniffed. This close, Harry wondered how no one had ever figured out that Snape was a werewolf before. On the other hand, maybe it wasn’t obvious if you didn’t already know about it.   
  
“I never smelled blood on you,” Snape whispered. “Never the kind of traces that hatred and lies and despair leave.”  
  
“I think it’s because I came to school and got away from him. And it’s not like he beat me up _every day_ and I was bleeding all the time.” Harry said another thing, because he wanted to and because any minute this would end anyway, so he might as well do what he wanted while there was still time. “Not like you. Your bullies were here.”  
  
Snape’s face went still, as if he was listening to something. Then he sniffed again.  
  
“You are not lying,” he said. “I can identify the stink of lies. It’s better than any other senses I have for giving away a student’s secrets.”  
  
Harry stared at him and said, “I think it was—it was _shitty_ of Black to do that to you.” Snape didn’t scold him for language, which was another incredibly strange, dream-like happening. “And it was horrible of my father to bully you. I think he was trying to save your life that time, though. And it was bad of Lupin to never try to adopt me.”  
  
“He is right that a werewolf would not be allowed to have custody of a child.”  
  
“But he could have done something else, couldn’t he? We could have gone to a different country. I don’t think anyone would have cared there.” Harry closed his eyes and sat back. The wind was cool on his scar.  
  
“You think he did not do right by you.”  
  
“Yes.” Harry opened his eyes and looked across the lake. There was enough wind now that it was stirring up little waves, Harry watched them splash on his feet, and waited for Snape to get fed up with this and go away.  
  
But Snape didn’t. “Because of what happened to you when you were with the Muggles.”  
  
Harry nodded. Maybe the mood was ending, and Snape would start making fun of him any second now. That would change the way he felt right now, although it wouldn’t make him forget this strange, _strange_ conversation.  
  
Snape shifted a little and cleared his throat. Harry heard him sniffing for some reason. Then he asked, “What did the Muggles do to you? Beyond your cousin?”  
  
Harry turned and stared at him. If he had been going to tell anyone, it wouldn’t have been Snape, who would probably save up the facts and use them to make fun of Harry in class the next time he messed up a potion.  
  
But Snape was frowning and staring at him. And—well, he hadn’t made fun of Harry by telling people his cousin used to beat him up in the week since he’d learned that, since Lupin was here.   
  
Harry made the same kind of choice that Hermione was always telling him not to make, like sneaking out under the Invisibility Cloak and going after the Stone himself. He trusted Snape, and he said, “They kept me in a cupboard and didn’t feed me much.”  
  
Snape frowned harder than ever, and Harry wondered if he should have added more details. He supposed it didn’t sound _that_ bad when he put it like that, not bad enough that Snape would understand why he’d prefer to live with a werewolf.  
  
But Snape sniffed, and sniffed again, and then he said, “You are telling the truth. It smells like snow. That crystalline and pure.”  
  
“Yes, I am.” Harry wrapped himself more firmly in his cloak and looked back towards the school. It would be time for dinner soon. He wanted to leave, but he also wanted to stay here and continue this strange conversation with Snape for as long as he could.  
  
Snape said abruptly, “Lupin stayed only long enough to try and convince me to spend time with him. He seems to have this idea that we are defined by our condition, and that means we are naturally best friends.”  
  
Harry said the first thing that came to mind. “Is he _mental_?”  
  
“Even for a werewolf, yes.” Snape sniffed again, but this time, Harry couldn’t tell what emotion he was hoping to pick up. His voice was elaborately casual. “If you were hoping to talk to him through me, that is impossible.”  
  
Harry shook his head. His face was tight and hot, but he had spent so _much_ time in the last week brooding about Lupin and Black and his father, and it just wasn’t interesting anymore. “I don’t care about him.”  
  
“ _That_ is a lie.”  
  
“Fine.” Harry flexed his hands for a second. “I got my one miraculous escape in my life. I escaped my relatives to come here. I won’t try to make Lupin adopt me when that should have been something he did on his _own_.”  
  
“You will not even ask him.”  
  
“I did. I asked him why. And now I’m not going to ask him anymore.” Harry turned away and stood up. It was really too cold to go on sitting by the lake, especially now that he thought he wasn’t going to get any answers he _wanted_ to hear.  
  
“You are a strange boy, Harry Potter,” said Snape, and stood up with him.  
  
 _That_ was something Harry had heard too many times to feel either glad or worried about it. He started towards the school, and Snape walked beside him with his cloak flapping in the wind and such a scowl on his face that Harry wasn’t surprised Malfoy, who’d started towards Harry, turned and went the other direction.  
  
Snape stopped him before they got anywhere near the school with an arm held out in front of him. Harry turned, still shivering, and looked up.  
  
“You are used to not relying on others,” Snape said, staring off into the distance, maybe at the entrance gates. “You won’t ask Lupin again, or anything about him. If he comes back, you would turn your head to the side and ignore him. You didn’t whine to your relatives because you knew what they would say. You didn’t tell anyone here about them because you thought you’d already used up all the luck you get in your lifetime.”  
  
“Yes,” Harry said, when a few minutes had passed in silence and Snape glared at him for a response instead of simply waiting.   
  
“Pride is a brittle tool,” said Snape, as if talking to himself this time. “Try to rely on it and it’ll crumble.”  
  
“I also have my friends,” Harry said, and his pride stung him a little. Was Snape giving advice to Harry or himself? Harry didn’t see what he had to be proud of. A reputation and a scar on his forehead that he’d never wanted? Even his Quidditch skill came from his dad, people had told him over and over. It wasn’t really his.  
  
Snape turned to him suddenly, and Harry thought he saw a red gleam in Snape’s eyes. Unnerved, he moved a step back. Snape sniffed with wide nostrils, and Harry wondered if Snape was reconsidering letting Harry know about his secret at all. Maybe to make sure it was _really_ safe, he would crawl into Harry’s bedroom in Gryffindor Tower and eat him.  
  
“You have friends,” Snape said, with a slow nod. “And that makes you different from me.” He hesitated, then took a vial out of his pocket. It had a potion in it that was so white and powdery it looked like fresh snow. Harry didn’t move as Snape thrust the vial at him.  
  
“What is that?” Harry finally asked, when Snape went on holding out the potion and didn’t say anything.  
  
“The antidote to the Secret-Keeper Potion I gave you.”  
  
Harry knew he gaped, and Snape gave him a scornful smile as if he hated the back of Harry’s throat, but Harry couldn’t help himself. “But why would you give me that when you were so paranoid about me revealing you were a werewolf?” he whispered.  
  
Snape stood looking at him for a moment with the wind whipping harder and small snowflakes beginning to fall around them. His eyes were black, or amber in the right light.  
  
“Because,” said Snape, “we have better leverage over one another than that.”  
  
He turned and strode towards the school.  
  
Harry watched him go for long moments. Then he held his nose and swallowed the white potion, which was not at all like snow and hard to get down without gagging.  
  
And when _that_ was done, he went and found Ron and Hermione, because even if it was possible to get through some things without your friends, Harry didn’t want to.  
  
 _And_ I _have the choice._  
  
 **The End.**


End file.
